


little piece of paraffin

by shuturmullet



Series: little pieces (a forever unfinished trilogy) [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (someone help me), Bad Flirting, F/M, Guess Who's Back, I love them sooooo much together, I'll add tags as I go I guess, I'm sorry I'm awkward when it comes to sex, Light Swearing, Not Beta'd, Trapped In Elevator, back again, band!au, doing-the-do, little pieces, multichaptered because why not, oh there's also a new original song too, pidgance, plance, please cope with me, raye's back, she/her pronouns for pidge, side katt, tell your friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-04 05:45:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14013465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuturmullet/pseuds/shuturmullet
Summary: "Keep it in your pants, Lance," said everybody.You thought you'd seen it all, but Doctor Pidge and Superstar Lance are back at it again.Will they manage to get out of their self-imposed friendzone?Stay tuned to find out!





	1. October

**Author's Note:**

> Third and last installment of my "Little Pieces" trilogy, also known as that thing I like to call the work of a lifetime (not because my life has reached an end, but because I’m 99,9% sure I'll never be able to write anything like this ever again).  
> Have fun, folks.  
> ___
> 
> Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in.  
> It's me. Writing Plance fanfiction.  
> Again.
> 
> First of all, I think I lost my touch, so sorry in advance if this sucks.  
> Second, hi, if you're reading this AU for the first time, I highly recommend you read the first two parts, before you get on with this one. [Here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11290158)'s where you can find part 1 ^_^  
> Self-advertising, much? Maybe, but consider yourself warned.  
> As usual, feedback would be appreciated.  
> Let's do this.  
> No looking back.  
> You guys ready? Because I'm not sure I am.

Pidge wasn’t there when, as promised, the four members of _Up In Space_ and their lovely manager delievered a really fat check made out to the Holt clinic.

So, considering this is the first time in almost a month she finally sees him in person, Lance is surely leaving an impression.

He looks at her a couple of times (rather subtly, she has to give him that), but for the most part, he keeps his eyes wandering, like it's expected from someone who's incredibly good at their job.

Pidge, on her part, is failing miserably at whatever this thing she’s doing is.

She can’t take her eyes off the stage, off of Lance.

The adrenaline runs under her veins, and it’s really not just about him being an impossibly attractive mess, because she’s already found herself to be even a bit teary in more than one occasion.

They’re killing it, tonight.

The chemistry between the guys is stellar and even Lotor, Allura’s cousin and also the guy they’ve temporarily hired to replace Keith, is doing an impressive job.

And yet, once again, Lance is on his own level.

He bounces back and forth across the stage, full of energy, acing notes and breaking hearts.

The Up In Space have been performing for almost an hour and he'd taken off his shirt around the fourth song because he just could not _not_ do it or otherwise it wouldn’t be Lance.

A force of nature in black skinny jeans, and nothing else. 

His face is flushed and his chest is covered in sweat.

Shiny, manly sweat all over a shitton of shiny, manly skin.

Pidge swallows and, bringing her pinkies to her mouth, releases an earcracker whistle as the song ends.

Shiro shares a nod with Hunk and Lotor and, from his headphones, calls one last track before the break.

The air supercharges.

Lance grabs the mic with both hands and Pidge holds her breath.

“This is a new song we’ve never performed live before. It’s called _Elevator Katie_ and I’d like to dedicate it to a lady friend of mine who’s here tonight. You guys don’t know her, but I promise she’s awesome,” he says, and points those velvet blue eyes at her, pinning her to her place with a single wink.

Pidge’s jaw drops to the floor as the crowd goes silent for a moment. It's the calm before the storm, because, suddenly, everything goes wild and even wilder again.

She’s standing on the front row (thanks, Allura), gets pushed forward by the mass and promptly brought back by one of the security guards.

The backstage pass she’s got around her neck (thanks, Allura), goes a little bit tighter.

It had been a mutual decision.

They were chatting on the phone, a few days after the Disastrous-But-Maybe-Not-Date they had back in September, and maybe she did bring out the subject, or maybe he’d felt a bit tentative, and they’d decided on common accord that it was better for both of them and the sake both of their careers if they started this _thing_ as friends, for now, and go with the flow.

Take it easy and ~~painfully~~ slow, basically.

Pidge wouldn admit it only through torture, but it's costing her a lot.

Forgetting their kiss, pretend like it never happened (because that's what they're doing), will either kill her or drive her mad, because Lance might be Lance, but she likes him anyway.

Probably, most certainly, in a way she shouldn't be liking him. But still. 

Against all odds, though, they seem to be managing it. 

But now _this_?

This is the reason why she can't bring herself to move on and after Lance, and definitely not the kind of friendship she’s expected to receive from him.

Hunk’s guitar blasts his first chord and Pidge watches Lance close his eyes, lick his lips, and start what seems to be the performance of a lifetime.  
  
_On a Thursday night,_  
_We were high on caffeine,_  
_You stole my heart and a bike_  
_Between St Claire and the Fifteenth._  
_You wore that pink stained sweater,_  
_and said “we’re not going to get caught!”_  
_But we almost got._  
  
_Then you kissed me in your your car,_  
_Held my hand outside the liquor store,_  
_Feeling brave enough_  
_You pinned me to your neighbour’s door._  
_And I really don’t mind that pace_  
_But you said “get that grin off your face”_  
_It’s still here._  
  
_And I can’t ignore you getting closer,_  
_Pulling at the hem of your dress,_  
_Sometimes I wish it'd come off_  
_As I fall on my knees, breakdown and play dead._  
_Put some trust in that fire alarm,_  
_You said “don’t tell nobody”_  
_About that tattoo on your arm_  
_Well, I did._  
  
“ _Jump on in this elevator, Katie. We go up and we go down, pulling cords and blacking out, I’m achy. Let’s get stuck in this elevator, Katie. I’d give a piece of soul to ride it with you, milady_ ,” Lance sings, eyes still on her embarrassed face, and thank god and all her angels, he doesn’t do anything stupid like pointing a finger in her direction or find something that rhymes with Holt.

“He. Did. Not,” Pidge growls but her protests get lost in the noise.

A tall black-haired girl steps on Pidge's toes and shouts Lance’s name like she’s drowning and he’s the one supposed to save her.

The pain in the foot is nothing compared to the sting of jealousy that strikes her right in the middle of the chest.

Pidge shakes her head and her discomfort away, getting lost in the song –her song!-- once again.

She’s endured the mess of semi-erotic birthday wishes he’s got on every social network, when they didn’t even know each other, when she still had no idea his mouth could taste so sweet.

And they’re friends. Right?

What’s a little fangirling going to do to her self-esteem, to their (ugh) friendship?

Plus, now there is a song. A corny and way too revealing song, but a proof nonetheless.

It means something.

 _Right_?

 

After the concert, after the other fans have had their fair amount of behind-the-scene action, Pidge and her pounding heart get escorted backstage by the same guard who’s caught her earlier.

Keith waves his good hand in her direction when she passes by.

Allura and Hunk both hug her rapidly and Pidge makes sure to tell Shiro his riff in _A Copy of A Double of A Doppelganger_ was divine as he signs her new UIS shirt.

Following Coran's instructions, she finds Lance sprawled on a reclining chair, glorious and successful like a king on his throne, and he’s apparently still too busy releasing the rush of the concert to put on a damn shirt.

She approaches him confidently, but he looks tired and euphoric at the same time, and Pidge can’t help but notice that there’s a bright pink lipstick stain on his right cheek.

Lance wipes his forehead with a towel a girl from the staff placed around his neck, and shots her a smirk of his. “Hey, gorgeous.”

For a moment, Pidge is really tempted to use an equally flirtatious tone, but unfortunately for him, it takes more than a pretty smile to tame her down.

Pidge plants beside him, legs wide, and smacks him hard on the shoulder, partly because she’s actually mad at him and partly because his tanned skin looks too inviting to let the opportunity pass. “Are you out of your mind? What the hell was that?” 

“Ouch! What’s going on?”

“You winked at me in front of six thousand people while singing a song that talks about us!”

“I thought you’d be flattered!”

“And I am, but…Do you want the press to find out? Do you want it to be like three weeks ago? Those pictures were freaking everywhere.”

Lance ignores her bantering and bends forward to poke her nose, leaving behind a wet trace of his touch. “Is it really been three weeks already?”

“Oh, shut up,” Pidge wipes her face with the back of her sleeve. “I’m being serious. Thank your good star that that incompetent photographer from BuzzFeed took only blurry pictures.”

“You know, that would have been good publicity for the clinic.”

“My family and I can take care of it without riding on your coattails, thank you.”

“Easy, tiger. I was kidding. And it’s not like people know it’s you. I’ve been very subtle all this time.”

“Very subtle? You wrote a song with my name in it, Lance!”

“Well, technically, Hunk did.”

“You told him about the tattoo?!” Pidge slaps him again.

“There’s true worshipping, there, dude. I had to share,” he replies, honestly. “It’s a forever thing. Can you blame me?”

“Yes, and I will,” she says, a bit stiffly, but then Lance pushes himself up on his feet, right in front of her, with his long arms spread, and she dives right into it without thinking it twice.

“Ugh, you’re all sweaty and gross,” she protests, but it’s really useless.

He smells like a summer day and is just as warm against her cheek.

Pidge hugs him tight, barely circling him completely with her greedy limbs.

“It’s so good to see you,” he says against her hair and Pidge is not really sure that _just friends for now_ should hug like this, but she presses her flush closer into his chest, anyway.

“It’s good to see you, too.”

“Are you mad at me? For the song, I mean.”

“No, I'm not,” Pidge snorts because, at the end of the day, the song was great and, even if he definitely should learn to control his impulsivity, what Lance did, came from his giant, jokes-full heart. “Maybe give me a heads up next time.”

“I will.” Lance laughs nervously. “Does it sound weird if I said I missed you?”

“A tad. Especially since we text everyday.”

“It’s not the same thing,” he sighs with a pout in his voice.

And it’s really not.

Pidge pretends like it is, though, overwhelmed and bothered by the claimings she feels toward him, and now it’s her turn to laugh as she forces herself away, her fingertips lingering just a little on the smoothness of his sides.

“Did you enjoy the concert?” he asks and she nods her head vigorously.

“Very. You guys were amazing. Allura sent a ticket for Matt, too, but he couldn’t make it.”

One of the guys from the tech crew wearing a Polaroid camera around his neck, excuses himself as he trips over them, making them both sway a little like they’re slow dancing surrounded by the chaos.

Lance calls him back. “Hey, Chris! Take a pic, buddy, please?”

“What’s with you and all these pictures?” Pidge looks up at him and gets a perfect primo piano of his chin.

"Don't ruin the moment," he scolds her, so Pidge imitates his smile as he takes a pose, circling her from behind, putting her hands over his because she's just that eager.

Chris lifts up the old-fashioned camera, snaps his shot and hands the picture to Lance, who promptly thanks him and start fanning the little piece of paper in front of Pidge’s face.

She grabs it midair as it’s still developing.

It’s a slow process that makes her heart ache, impatient.

Before her eyes, the contours and the contrast increase to the point it’s easy to recognize her face, her slightly closed eyes, and Lance's toothy grimace.  

He peers from over her shoulders, pointy chin brushing against her temple. “Aw, look at that! This one’s definitely not blurry.”

“You wanna keep it?” Pidge asks, but she’s really hoping he’ll decline.

Keith emerges from behind them, broodingly shaking his head.

“Oh, for fucks sake, Lance, put your shirt on.”

Lance cocks an eyebrow, teasingly. “Too tempting?”

“Like getting your colon inspected by drunk lobsters,” the other replies, not even bothering turning around.

Lance flashes Pidge with a crooked grin. “Ah! I won! Hey, are you staying for the afterparty?”

Pidge pretends like she actually has to think about it. “Is anyone famous going to be there?”

“Am I not famous enough for you?”

“Not for my likings.”

“I thought you weren’t riding coattails.”

“Since it’s you, I’ll make an exception, this time.”

“Of course,” he states, faking indignancy. "Give me a minute and I'll be right back, okay?"

"Take your time. And wear a shirt."

Lance clicks his tongue. "Can't make no promises about that."

She makes sure he's not looking when she brings the polaroid picture close to her stomach, shielding it with her sweaty palms, and allows herself to smile. 


	2. November

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Boom, two chapters in a day!" she said, disappearing once again for the next 20 years.

There's something wrong with Lance.

He feels sick, feverish, but he's mostly sure he's physically okay. 

Mentally, on the other hand...

Something he can’t even name is eating and gnawling at the bottom of his stomach, leaving him hungry and queasy at the same time.

It’s like he’s searching for something he doesn’t even know he should be looking for, in the first place.

It’s frustrating and, no matter how much he tries to scroll it away by diving into his work, it never leaves completely.

They’re back from the band’s last date in San Diego and, instead of feeling relieved and accomplished, instead of joining the others in celebration on the return flight, Lance winds up curled on his seat, broody enough to put Keith at shame, and with a painful migraine that threatens to hammer his skull to pieces.

He tries to talk it out with Hunk, but the reply he gets from his best friend is a weird combination of a knowing nod and a vigorous arm squeeze.

Lance has no idea what it means, but he’s certain it’s some sort of hidden advice.

He fishes his phone out of his jeans pocket, because maybe Pidge knows.

She’s smarter than anyone he knows and she’s a great listener, too.

Lance likes having her as a friend, even if the definition sometimes make him cringe and sometimes doesn't seem appropriate.

He’s halfway into typing a sentence when he remembers he’s somewhere ten thousand feet up in the air, not allowed to call, and she’s probably sleeping, so he ends up re-reading their text exchanges for the rest of the flight, instead.

It seems to help, but not quite completely.  

Later, after they land and part ways, he and Keith share a taxi.

Lance rubs his temples, fearing his head might explode any moment.

“You okay?” Keith asks, crossing his legs. “You haven’t said anything stupid or offensive in more than two hours, and I don’t know if I should be grateful or worried but that's definitely out of character.”

Lance snorts, not at all amused. The pressure behind his eyes is insufferable. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You look pale. Maybe you’re nursing something.”

“Or maybe it’s just your face,” Lance retorts, but even he can say it’s a shitty remark. “I don’t know, man. I feel like…I feel all tight in my chest and sometimes I can’t breathe.”

“Anxiety? Stress?” Keith suggests, and Lance bobs his head in sympathy, because if there's someone who's absolutely familiar with this topic, that's him. 

“Maybe, or maybe not.”

“Is it recurring or cronic? When did it start?”

Lance taps a finger to his chin and thinks about it seriously for the first time.

“A couple months, I guess? And it comes and goes, mostly during the night. Mostly when I’m away.”

“Away from what?”

“Home,” he replies, as if it should be obvious, and his gaze falls on the outside of the car, where familiar streets start making their appearance.

“Home,” Keith repeats and his mouth closes in a thin, funny-looking line. “You know what? I think you should talk with Pidge.”

“Yeah, I thought so, too,” he agrees, and feels his own features soften at the mention of her name. “She’s a doctor, after all. She’ll know what’s wrong with me.”

“That’s not what I meant, Lance.”

“I’m not following.”

“Of course you’re not. Jesus, sometimes you’re so dense,” Keith shakes his head and his bangs cover his eyes. “I don’t know what the deal is between you two, and I really don’t care, but it’s clear that you have feelings for her, and these feelings are messing with your head.”

“Puh-lease. You’re making it sound like I’m in love with her or something.”

"Aren't you?" Keith’s reply comes with a raised eyebrow and a silence filled with judgment.

It takes Lance a full moment to register and it’s the exact same moment that it takes his heart to finally settle.

Banging his head against a wall wouldn’t have been this illuminating and painful, honestly.

In Lance's defense, it's not like he comes from a completely out of the blue situation.

For one, he's known Pidge for quite some time now, and even if life keeps getting in their way, his crush on her has done nothing but grow in the distance, and he's shared with her things he's never probably dared confessing to himself, either.

It doesn’t hurt that she’s incredibly funny and pretty, as well, but that’s really just a bonus in the big scheme of things.

But love...

Love. Pidge and love. Love for Pidge.

Lance can’t believe he’s so not in touch with his own emotions.

How absurd is it? He’s spent weeks trying to decide if his body was slowly trying to betray him or the other way around, but now that Keith –Keith, of all people!- has presented him a more than plausible solution that he just can’t ignore, he has no idea how he should handle it.

And again, it was in the air.

Every time he sings a love song in front of a screaming crowd, it's Pidge's amber eyes he thinks about.

Every time he sees a funny picture of a dog wearing an outfit, it's Pidge's phone number he immediately looks for.

If he wasn't so busy keeping himself back because he respects the terrifyingly absurd boundaries they've set for themselves, he probably would have got it sooner.

And definitely without Keith's help.

But beggars can't be choosers, Lance thinks, and he's in love with Pidge.

Simple as that.

Complicated as that.

“Oh,” he gasps. “That actually explains a lot.”

And now that he's finally managed to pinpoint exactly what was turning him into a frowning asshole, Lance can't wait to get it out of his system.

He has to tell her, right? So she can't tell him she loves him, too, and maybe he'll get to kiss her again.

He has to tell her, he knows he has to, because this thing that’s consuming him from the inside will eventually grow and grow until there’s nothing left of him but a huge ball of

angsty closeted feelings and bitter pining.

Keith gives him a disgusted look as he basically climbs onto the front seat’s back and gives Pidge’s address to the driver.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m telling Pidge how I feel. You’re the one who suggested it.”

“I didn’t say do it now. She’s going to kill you.”

“I don’t care.”

It's a now or never kind of thing.

In a matter of minutes, the car pulls over in front of Pidge’s condo and Lance practically rolls out of it, feeling the electricity prickle at the exposed skin of his neck.

"Thanks for the tip, man," Lance shoves a handful of crumpled dollars in his friend's good hand. "Ride's on me. I totally owe you."

“What the fuck am I supposed to do with all the bags, you ass?” Keith protests from the window.

“Our buddy here will help you. Make sure to leave him a good tip.”

“I hate you, Lance.”

“I’ll survive. See you at home!” he replies, shrugging, and patting his hand twice on the roof of the car.

 

He runs up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. He’s completely breathless when he reaches Pidge’s floor, and even more out of breath when he calls and she replies almost immediately.

It’s a voice that brings him back to Earth, _hers_. “Lance?”

“I’m outside,” he breaths into his phone and hangs up before she has the chance to reply.

He hears the gears turning and then she opens the door, wearing pajama pants and a Star Wars shirt he’s pretty sure once belonged to him.

Her hair is combed messily on top of her head, glasses crooked on the bridge of her nose.

Lance is completely gone. Ciao, auf wiedersehen, adios and goodbye.

Seriously, if he was almost tentative about it before, he’s pretty sure now that he is devastatingly, absurdly and disgustingly in love with this weird girl he’s met by chance in an elevator, and if she’d drop that sulk for even a minute, he’d like to tell her.

“Lance, what the heck? It’s two in the morning.”

“Yeah, sorry. Were you sleeping?”

“No, I was in the middle of a strip poker night with Doctor Who and Indiana Jones.” Pidge takes off her glasses and rubs her eyes with her fingers. “Why are you even here? I thought we were supposed to meet on Monday.”

“I have to talk to you,” he manages to blurt out and Pidge’s mouth quirks as she puts her glasses back on.

“And it couldn’t wait until morning?”

“No.”

“Can we at least go back inside? It’s freezing out here.”

“It will take a moment, I promise,” he says, because he doesn’t trust himself in a confined space.

“Oookay,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back on the doorjamb. “Let’s hear it, then. What do you have to tell me so important that it can’t wait until I’m properly awake and not feeling like murdering you?”

“I…”, he starts, but chokes mid-sentence.

His brain’s freezed, the throat so swollen it’s a miracle he’s still breathing properly.

He didn’t put into account the possibility that it wouldn’t be easy to confess your love for someone, like this, out of a need rather than an obligation.

“Yes? You, what?”

And what if she doesn’t feel the same?

A laughing, terrible sensation hooks sharply on his lungs and when he tries to shut it out, it leaves even more doubts.

What if she doesn't return his feelings and, consequently, this conversation is going to declare the ending of the relationship they're carefully building? Lance squeezes his eyes shut and goes for it again, but, _again_ , nothing comes out.

The band-aid he’s supposed to rip off, stays put and does nothing to help the stitches stop itching.

It’s weird how love works, because he likes everything about her, even the way she’s looking at him now, like he’s forgot to take he’s lost his head somewhere or he’s forgot to take his cuckoo pills.

What if his rush will make her leave for good? Lance takes a deep breath, reaching for the tiny hands she carefully lets him hold.

“I like…No. I _love_ …”

“Just word it out,” she murmurs, searching for his eyes.

He can’t tell if she’s more impatient or pissed off, and it wouldn’t be a problem, really, but the fear of rejection is a pointy needle that would pop even the most helium-filled of balloons.

“I love enchiladas,” he manages to blurt out, and just like that, the moment is gone.

Pidge crosses her eyes and makes the face of someone who’s been caught completely off track. “Let me get this straight. You came here, in the middle of the night, after a sold out concert and a three-hour flight, to tell me you like, no, _love_ , Mexican food?”

His voice sounds hoarse when he surrenders and offers her a dumb “Yes?” in reply.

She sighs in frustration, taking her hands back as if his palms were burning. “Grow up, Lance. I’m going back to bed.”

She doesn’t slam the door in his face, but it’s almost like she did.

He feels incredibly relieved. Even if it pains him to admit it, he’s glad he didn’t tell her tonight.

He’s most certainly just blown off every hint of chance he has to have her return his feelings, but there must be a reason if he couldn’t let it all out.

Timing, Lance thinks, pondering his options. He’ll tell her.

Not tonight, presumably, and not while being sober, apparently, but he’ll tell her. Of course he will. 

For a really small moment, Lance panics a bit, but Pidge will probably end up thinking it was just one of his stupid quirks and, after a two days of monosyllabic texts and passive-aggressive phone calls, things will be good again. 

Heck, he’s _so_ going to swipe her off her feet.

Exhausted but sufficiently diagnosed, Lance stares at Pidge’s door for a few seconds, then grabs his dignity by the neck and calls a cab.


	3. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a christmas chapter in the middle of the spring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which everybody's got somebody to love and the liquirish string makes an appearence. 
> 
> (this whole thing was written under the influence of a jumbo-sized bag of jelly beans. I'm sorry in advance for all the self-indulgence.)

Her phone vibrates in her cardigan's pocket and Pidge lets it ring.

It’s four days to Christmas and she is in the college library, sharing a table with a couple of girls from her study group, and having a hard time getting into the right festive mood.

Mr Iverson, one of the librarians, is pinning cheap streamers to the lintels, while his assistants decorate a small Christmas tree somewhere between the public toilets and the J-K section.

Everywhere she goes, even here in this old, crappy library, it smells like cookies and good feelings, but Pidge has nothing but frustration to offer as contribution to the happy parade.

Hunched over her Physiopathology book, armed with her favorite green highlighter in one hand, and a Venti caramel macchiato in the other, she’s been reading the same paragraph over and over again for the last twenty minutes.

Despite the unreasonable dose of caffeine and motivation she’s trying to provide herself, she can’t concentrate on anything.

It makes her freak out a little, losing control of herself like this. She’s usually better drown to her goal, no matter what costs her.

And yet, here she is, probably throwing her academic career out the window because her mind is busy traveling to places that have very little to do with cellular immune haemolysis and very much to do with a certain blue-eyed young man that’s been haunting her thoughts for longer than he should be.

Her phone buzzes again and Pidge is tempted to let it slide again, but then she caves in, because she always does. 

Like it does every time she reads his name, her heart skips a beat.

Pidge takes a deep breath and bends a little to the side, sliding her thumb over the green icon.

“Stop calling me, I’m busy,” she hisses into the phone.

“Pidge?” Lance laughs, his amused tone catching the breath in her throat. “Why are you whispering? Are you in someone’s truck? Do you need me to come over and pull a _Taken_ on your kidnappers?”

She barely keeps herself from laughing too. “I think I’ll manage.”

“Cool. You think you’ll be done around six? Hunk is making lasagna. Everyone’s going to be here and he wanted me to invite you, as well.”

 _He_ wanted? Pidge dodges the bullet originally aimed at her heart and blinks a couple of times. “I think I can make it.”

“Perfect. I’ll tell Hunk you eat for three.”

Pidge snorts and bites her tongue. “Do I need to bring something?”

“Just your tiny self…” he replies, and there’s a scrunching sound on the other side of the phone. “Seriously, though…Where are you? And why are you sill whispering?”

“I’m at the library.”

“On a Friday, four days before Christmas? You’re too serious.”

“One of us has to be. See you at 6?”

“I’ll come pick you up. Hey, Pidge?”

“What?”

“ _I will look for you, I will find you, and I will kill you...._ ” he recites, deepening his voice on purpose.

“ _Good luck_ ,” she recites back. “Gosh, you’re such a clown. Laters.”

“Laters.”

Pidge puts her phone away and stares at her books, cursing herself for being so weak when it comes to him.

Since the whole enchiladas episode, things between her and Lance have reached a weird impasse in the friendzone department.

Even if he’s busy shooting _Elevator Katie_ ’s videoclip or doing long hours at the recording studios, Lance is back to his idiot self and makes sure to send her every unflattering picture of Keith he can take in a day.

When Pidge is free from school and work duty they even meet at her apartment and have coffee and carrot muffin Hunk makes especially for her, or watch the stupidest shows on tv they can find and that they eventually end up hating or ditching for some videogame.

Looking at it from the outside, she couldn’t be luckier.

Looking at is from the outside, it’s easy to think everything is fine.

Everything is fine, but sometimes, fine means that you have to let go on something.

And she’ll never understand Lance, because he’s losing so many chances.

Purposely or not.

Pidge is nothing but stupid, she knows there was more behind Lance’s shivering voice and dilated pupils, that night, in front of her apartment door. She sees it in her own eyes every time she looks at herself in the mirror.

But if it meant what she thinks it meant, he is doing an amazing job at not showing it at all.

And she’s tired of waiting. Soooooo tired.

Pidge groans, louder than she’s intended, and buries her face in her book frustrated by her own lack of spine.

Mr Iverson, climbing down his ladder, gives her a stern look.

 “You okay, Katie?” Anita, a really nice girl from her Genetics afternoon class, asks sweetly, and Pidge finally remembers she’s in a public place, surrounded by other people.

“I can’t take it anymore,” she replies, honest in more than one way.

“Yeah, me neither.”

“Maybe we should take a break,” proposes Dana from Biochemistry before turning her head to Pidge. “Can I borrow your notes? Jackson speaks so slow I fall asleep all the time during his classes.”

Pidge chuckles and, in an act of total delirium, closes her binder and pushes it towards Dana, forgetting how pathetically immature she gets after three beers and there’s great wi-fi signal in the room.

Too late.

Dana’s eyes and smile go so wide Pidge is certain she’ll develop a paralysis if she doesn’t stop right now. “Oh, my Gooooood!” she screeches, eyeballing the UIS logo stamped on the front of Pidge’s binder. “I had no idea you were a fan, too!”

Pidge doesn’t know what to say.

She’s in that phase of confidence with the members of UIS –some more than others- where she can’t exactly consider herself a fan, but people don’t need to know, so she just shrugs, pushing her glasses up her nose, shyly. “I went to their concert in Phoenix, last month.”

“I heard they’re great live!” Dana cheers, and bumps Pidge with her shoulder. “You even have a song with your name. I’m so jealous, right now.”

Pidge just nods and when Anita grabs a packet of gums from her shoulder bag and offers one to her, she accepts it because she doesn’t know what else to say or do.

“Did you hear that Nyma Alexander is going to be in the MV?” Dana asks, breaking the silence once again. and something uncomfortable nests in Pidge’s gullet at the mention of Lance’s most ~~inf~~ amous model ex-girlfriend.

“I had no idea.”

“I read it on her Twitter, this morning,” the other girl says, thumbing away on her smartphone. “Look.”

Pidge reluctantly looks at the screen, stomach flooding with bile.

 

 **Nyma Alexander  
** _@RealNymaAlexander_

So happy to work with these guys again. And so honored to be your Katie. _@lancemclance @takashirogane @HunkzGarrett @alluraaaaaa @keithkogane @SeeYouLotor @UpInSpaceOfficial_

_#FreeElevatorRides_

It’s a small post that barely says anything and Pidge knows she shouldn’t be reaching and reading too much into the fact that Nyma chose to mention _his_ name first, or that that hashtag looks shadier than it probably is in reality.

When she looks away, her heart is still beating, but it’s got trouble doing it properly.

The truth is that being Lance’s _whatever_ , is not very easy, most of the time.

Scratch that, it's never easy.

There’s always something to work through, something to overcome, unless you want your house and workplace invaded by rumors and paparazzi.

Unless you don’t mind your _whatever_ being constantly hit on by other people who would do anything to get a piece of him.

Pidge would like to say Lance is worth all this, because she knows him and knows his heart, but she also needs to be sure he’s in this as much as she is, before giving herself up for good to another person.

And again, he’s not making it easy, leaving her hanging with his half confessions and keeping secrets. 

Like, why is she learning about this story only now?

Pidge closes her eyes, refusing to think it a possibility that maybe he didn’t think it is her business to know.

“I’m surprised they’re even working together. Do you think they’d get back together after last time's drama?,” Dana says, making a sad face and putting away her phone.

"Mmmh," Pidge mumbles and she doesn’t have to recall the whole thing because Lance and Nyma's breakup, after she’d publicly cheated on him during _MFW_ , had been discussed a lot by everyone who had a name in the scene, back in 2015.

“Honestly? Lance is my favorite, but I really didn’t like he and Nyma together. I’m sure he’s smarter than that, anyway. But you know how famous people are.”

Pidge feels pushed out of her comfort zone, hurried into asking for explanations.

“Yeah,” she whispers.

_He didn’t tell her. Why didn’t he tell her?_

Deciding she’s done enough moping around for a day, Pidge gulps down the remaining of her coffee, scraps bitter on her tongue, and goes back to her books, even if what she’d really like to do is wipe everything away from the table and sleep on top of it for the next fifty years.

Tonight. She'll have her answers, tonight. 

 

* * *

 

  

Allura shows Pidge around then chaperones her into the dining room where Lance and Keith are arguing over the seats and then to decide who’s going to open the wine.

Lance loses both times and ends up getting the seat opposite to Pidge's while Keith flops right at her left.

“Can’t you guys knock it off for a while? We have guests,” Shiro scolds them, taking place on her right, face lit up by one of his sweetest smiles. “Are you having fun, Pidge? You look quiet.”

Pidge has met them all in more than one occasion and she’s learnt that they’re impossibly nice and down to earth people, but Shiro is different.

He’s the one who keeps the guys together, like the glue that fills their voids with his innate leadership and goodhearted kindness.

He’s like a mythical and rare creature, like a unicorn or a good-looking abominable snowman.  

So it’s not Shiro noticing or being concerned that surprises Pidge the most, rather than the fact that she thought she’s done a pretty good job at hiding her nervousness.

Inadvertently, her eyes move to Lance, handsome and relaxed in his casual clothes.

She eyes him eye her over his glass of soda and gets lost in the blue of his eyes, the curve of his brow, for more than she previously intended. 

He’d chattered the whole way to his place, filling her in with facts about his day (still no mention of Nyma), as if nothing happened.

And maybe nothing did. That’s what Pidge keeps repeating in order to keep herself together.

“All good,” she says, smiling back to Shiro. “I’m just super hungry.”

“Good,” Hunk exclaims, emerging from the kitchen with a giant plaque of fuming lasagna that he promptly places in the middle of the tablecloth. “because there’s plenty of food, here.”

“This smells delicious, Hunk,” Allura chimes, clapping her hands in front of her face.

Pidge’s stomach agrees as she breaths in the sweet smell of homemade bolognese sauce.

Under the table, something taps at her foot and Pidge ignores it because it could be anyone, but then another tap makes her snap her head up.

Lance is innocently looking around, anywhere but in her direction. He would look believable if it wasn’t for the mischievous smirk he’s failing to control. 

Hunk smooths the creases on the yellow apron he’s wearing and clears his throat. “Um, before we start eating, I have something to say. Shay wanted to wait until dessert but if I have to keep this for myself for another minute, I’m going to explode.”

Everybody snickers and he holds out his big hand to his girlfriend, who blushes and covers her face with her hands a little, but then gladly accepts the place he’s offering at his side.

 Without losing a beat, he exclaims “We’re getting married!”, lips stretched in a sly smile.

Allura screams, Keith almost falls from his chair. Coran actually falls and it takes both Shiro and Hunk together to bring him back on his feet.

They all take turns hugging and congratulating. Lance is on his best friend first.

He hangs from his bulky neck, excited like a kid, and it’s a real sight.

When it’s her turn, Pidge looks at him from behind Hunk’s shoulder.

He’s teasing Shay, genuinely happy for his friends, arms crossed against his chest, eyes glowing in the light of the dining room.

“Be patient with him,” Hunk says, rubbing her arms. "He really cares about you."

“Okay,” she replies, nodding, and it’s in that moment that Pidge understands that, no matter how this goes, no matter who gets to date who, Lance deserves some trust, and so does she.

The lasagna is cold when they end up eating it, but it’s still one of the most delicious things Pidge’s ever had in twenty-one years on this planet.

This time, when Lance’s foot taps her own under the table, she makes sure to tap back.

 

* * *

 

 

She puts away the last glass she’s polished and looks out the window, where Keith’s cat is running after a dry leaf in the backyard.

After dinner, while everybody’s gone out for drinks, Pidge helps Keith and Lance with the dishes.

The boys won't stop bickering, but Pidge gets to discover a new side of their relationship and, objectively speaking, they are incredible together, whether they want to admit it or not.

One minute they’re fighting over a dishtowel and the other they’re in tears, laughing-sobbing at the idea of Hunk wearing a lavalava.

They remind Pidge of the relationship she used to have with her brother when Matt was a pimply teenager and she was first diagnosed myopia.

Lance puts his hand behind his back and cracks his spine.

Keith, using his healed arm, throws a towel at his face then flies the room, before Pidge has the chance to realize that now she and Lance are alone.

Pidge gathers all her strength and willpower and goes to the sink.

She is still washing her hands when he comes up from behind, messing up her hair a little.

She splashes him, peppering his gray shirt with water drops, then lets him wrap her hands in a cloth before brushing them dry, like he once said he usually does with his little nephews.

They exchange a look and he sighs.

When he releases her hands, Pidge can’t stand the silence anymore.

“Long day?” she asks, trying to sound casual and confident.

“The longest,” Lance chuckles a bittersweet laugh. “I had no idea Hunk had proposed to Shay. It was a nice surprise, though. Kinda made up for the rest.”

Pidge clenches her jaw. “Did something happened at work? I…um, heard you had to work with Nyma. Mustn’t be easy working with an ex.”

Lance shrugs a little and rubs his neck. “Naw, it's just been one of those days. I didn’t even know Nyma was going to be there, since she just replaced our main actress because of an emergency. We don’t have scenes together, anyway,” he says and the explanation he gives is so honest and plausible that Pidge feels her face relax in relief. Lance notices too, apparently, and his voice goes lower. “Were you worried about it?”

“What?! No.”

“You don’t have to be.”

“Listen,” caught off guard, she blushes a little. “You don’t have to justify yourself with me.”

“Yeah, right.” Lance clicks his tongue. “Hey, I want to give you something. Come with me?”

Glad he’s changed the subject, Pidge pushes her glasses up her nose, trying to regain some composure. “Where? I had my weight in lasagna for dinner. I don’t think I could go far.”

“Just my room. I’ll give you a piggyback ride if your feet can’t take it.”

She scrunches up her nose, and laughs lightheartedly for the first time in twenty-four hours.  “That’s so cheesy. We’re so not doing that.”

“That’s probably for the best. I don’t think I could lift you, anyway.”

Pidge grabs the towel from the kitchen counter and whips him in the leg.

He protests just a little then bends down rather rapidly for someone so tall, and picks her up so that she’s got blood running to her head, a lock of hair stuck in her mouth and a perfect upside-down view of his behind.

“I didn’t say I would go with you,” she pants, out of breath.

“I’ll be a gentleman, don’t worry.”

Pidge doesn’t tell him it’s not him she doesn’t trust, in a confined space where the proximity is inevitable. It’s her own instincts.

She decides to stop protesting.

It could be worse, after all. 

It could be worse. But it could also be better.

 

* * *

 

 

They enter a small corridor and Lance opens one of the doors with a kick.

When he puts her down, Pidge’s head is spinning.

He smiles, dangerously close, and helps her give her hair a sense. Every time his fingers touch her skin, she has to remind herself to breathe.

“There you go,” he winks, pleased, before taking a step back. “Make yourself at home.”

Pidge finds herself surrounded by light blue walls, overwhelmed by Lance’s smell of face soap and _Terre D’Hermesse._

His room is nothing like she expected.

It’s small and, except for the pictures plastered badly all over the walls and a few shelves covered in books and albums, surprisingly bare and tidy.

She caresses the soft surface of the comforter he’s got perfectly sprawled on the mattress.

It feels personal, but it’s what she needs right now. She searches his eyes, shyly. “Can I?”

“Great choice.”

While he rummages through his closet, Pidge gets comfortable on the mattress and allowes her eyes to wander around, to the copy of Twilight he proudly keeps on display to the dozens drawings and letters he received from his fans.

There’s a framed Golden Award pinned on the wall, a picture of Lance, Hunk and Keith in their high school uniforms taped to the glass.

A pure ode to Lance and his priorities.

Pidge mentally shakes her head and is still looking at it when Lance waves an envelope under her nose and forces her eyes away.

She accepts it, almost reluctant. “What’s this?”

“Your Christmas gift.” He sits down next to her close enough so that their sides are touching from knee to shoulder, the tip of her shoe covering his slipper. “I’m visiting my family for the holidays so I thought I’d take the chance and give it to you now. Come on, open it.”

“Oh. I didn’t get you anything yet. I suck at gifts,” Pidge pouts but holds one of the paper corners between her fingers and tears the letter open. “I’ll probably end up getting a last-minute gift for everyone. How do you feel about socks?”

“I like Batman ones.”

“Noted.”

Pidge can’t believe her eyes. Her hands fidget a little when she realizes what she’s actually looking at.

“These are…”

“Yep.”

“Holy shit. These are tickets.”

“Yes.”

“For the Kennedy Space Center!”

“Si.”

“But…How? I mean…This is...I don’t even know if I can use them!”

Lance snickers at her bothered face. “I got Keith to talk to your brother. You have a completely free weekend, right after New Year. Everything is already set.”

She looks at him, mouth agape, then looks at the tickets on her lap, and back at him, once again. “This is too much. I…I can’t accept it.”

“Of course you can,” he replies, his long lashes drawing shadows on his high cheekbones. “You work hard and you deserve it. Take your brother with you, take a friend, go alone. Just go and have fun. Hell, you can even take Keith if that means you get to relax and live a little.”

Pidge launches herself towards him, burying her nose in the crook of his neck.

His laughter vibrates throw her ribcage and it’s such a beautiful feeling she can’t help but cling to it, to him, tighter and tighter as the seconds pass.

“This is the best gift ever. Thank you,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to his cheeks.

She allows her lips to linger there, a few inches away from his mouth and she feels his jaw clenching. If she took the lead or forced her body to move just a little, she could look at him straight in the eyes.

But she stays there, vulnerable and out of sight, still and almost pressed to Lance’s chest with all her flesh, with her heart exploding.

 “Lance.”

“Yes, dear?” he asks, tilting his head, warm palms spreading over her left thigh.

 “I don't wanna be just friends anymore,” she murmurs against his neck.

 _There_ , Pidge thinks. _Bomb dropped_.

She feels his body tense under hers, and for a moment she regrets speaking, but then his hands abandon her legs and make their way up her sides and up her shoulders, stopping only to twirl the strings of her hoodie around is fingers.

He smirks, warm breath mixing with her own, teeth almost grazing against her lips. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

"Then think harder," she scoffs and his hair tickles her forehead. “Now stop talking.”

“No more talking. Took us long enough,” he agrees sending a chill down her spine, and finally pulls at the strings, meeting her lips halfway.

It’s the sweetest kiss Pidge’s ever received in her entire life. It tears down every barrier, shuts down doubts and fears she ever experienced.

She melts into it, glasses clouding, fingers tangling in the softness of Lance’s hair.

She keeps kissing him, harder and deeper, giving herself a pace fast enough to let her savor every single shade of his taste.

His hands leave the strings they were holding onto and Pidge moans against his lips because one of his thumbs has found its way under her is now pressing hard into the bare skin of her hipbone. It’s a small contact, she’s wanted this way too long to hold back her voice now.

Her breath is on fire when it leaves her lungs, his eyes still closed when she draws back.

“This is so much better than socks,” he says, rubbing his nose against hers.

She giggles, so happy it almost feels like sadness. “Hey, do you have plans after New Year?”

“Don’t think so. Why?”

“Would you like to come with me to KSC?” she offers, and Lance takes his time, mouth traveling down, sucking at the soft skin of her throat, grazing along her jaw, before replying.

“I hoped you’d ask. I was actually going to tag along, anyway.”

“Sneaky,” she snarks and climbs on his lap, knees pressed to the sides of his hips, taking his scruffy face in her palms. “Kiss me again?”

Lance circles her waist and bites lightly at her bottom lip, giving her an incredibly naughty look that makes her blood boil. “Can’t stay away from all of this, can’t you?”

Pidge rolls her eyes. “You know what? I think I’ll ask Keith to come with me to Florida, after all.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Pidge feels hope invade her soul.

She can't wait to have it all. 

“Try me,” she whispers in his ear and when she hears him gulp, she smiles and pushes him down against the covers.

 

* * *

 

 

An hour after he’s done playing thirdwheel, Keith decides he’s done enough rehearsing for the day.

His arm is still a little sore, but he feels proud of how he's handling it. 

He exits the soundproof room and takes a long shower. He is on his way to the kitchen when he steps into Lance and Pidge, shamelessly cuddling in the darkness of the living room. 

Lance is illuminated by the TV screen, sprawled on the farthest corner of the couch, with the relaxed face of someone who’s just been properly ravished.

Pidge is snuggled on his lap, facing the door and munching away on a liquirish string. They’re lazily watching a documentary, fingers playing and touching, incessantly.

Keith can tell there’s a new intimacy between them.

They look much more comfortable around each other, now, than they’ve been at dinner and they don’t even notice him being there.

Keith feels like he’s intruding, so he doesn’t say a word and goes to get his water.

In the kitchen, he goes straight for the sink then wipes his mouth with his wrist.

Sighing, he brings out his phone and types a quick text, ignoring the way his stomach turns in the meantime.

 ** _About time_** , it’s the reply he gets almost immediately _._ _**Tell Lance he owes me.**_ **_Almost done here btw._ _Meet me for coffee in 20?_**

Keith starts typing back, then pushes the delete button, cursing under his breath, and the screen turns blank again.

Red, his Cymric ladycat, enters the room and immediately starts purring and rubbing her furry head against his ankles. 

From the other room he hears Pidge laugh shocked at something Lance said and everything in Keith’s heart growls, hungry.

First Hunk and Shay, now these two.

There must be some hidden meaning under all of this, happening so fast.

Pidge laughs again, louder this time. Keith snorts. 

He’s been lonely for so long he can’t even remember how it feels to laugh like that. Would he even be able to? Keith isn’t sure but he wants to find out. Hell, even Lance found a girlfriend, and she’s even an awesome person.

He unlocks his phone again and his shaking hands struggle with the keyboard.

**_How about a proper date, instead?_ **

His stomach drops as he presses SEND.

One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.

There’s a _ding_. _**I’d love that** , _the message says, and Keith has to stop himself from screaming.

He bends down to scratch at Red’s ears, then turns the kitchen light off and grabs his coat from the hanger with a new spring in his feet.

Outside, the night is chill against his skin, the leather of his motorcycle’s seat cool against the fabric of his pants.

He finds himself smiling when he pushes his helmet down his head.

 _That’s a good start_ , he thinks, and turns the bike on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *nonchalantly spams you all with side Katt*


	4. January

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pidge knows better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, fellow Plancers, and welcome to another episode of LPOP.  
> A few things before you read on:  
> First of all, as you may have noticed, I propped the rating up to an M because this chapter contains some *wink winks* interesting situations. It's nothing explicit, I promise, but I felt like it was the right thing to do since we gotta protect the childree, and all that jazz. 
> 
> Second, I'd like to pubblicly thank the amazing and adorable [hailqiqi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hailqiqi/pseuds/hailqiqi) for all her support and advice. This fic would have ended two chapters ago, if it wasn't for you.

At nine in the morning, a small bus delivers their group to Kennedy Space Center.

It’s a new year, the sun is shining up in the sky, Pidge is his girlfriend, and honestly, who wouldn’t be excited at the perspective of witnessing a freaking real-time rocket launch?

Definitely not him.

Pidge lets out a squeak and digs her nails into the flesh of his knee.

Lance gasps out loud and looks at her from his seat.

She’s got her nose-pressed against the bus window, eyes glistening and cheeks red with excitement.

The more he stares, the more he realizes how this trip was exactly what Pidge needed and, why not, what he needed, too.

Sure, his job gives him the chance to travel around quite often -and to places way more exotic than next-door Florida-, and catching up with his family ha always fun, but this is different.

“Oh my God, we’re here!”

The girl basically pulverizing his meniscus with her bare hands, is different.

Lance feels ecstatic.  

It’s no secret that he lives to make sure people around him are content and safe, all day, every day, and it’s also not a secret that he is incredibly good at it when he puts in all his effort.

The day he left Cuba, his little niece had climbed up his legs and planted her tiny feet over his own.

They were in his mother’s kitchen; a radio was playing somewhere, filling the warm air with salsa rhythm.

“Dance,” she’d ordered in her little girl voice and beamed at him with her toothless grin.

He picked her up and danced, just like she’s asked, and they were still swaying to the salsa rhythm when his brother had come pick him up for his flight.

He’d let go of his niece and ruffled her hair, refraining a pout, because he was genuinely having fun, too. “I gotta go, princess,” he’d said.

“When are you coming back? Dad never wants to dance with me, and granny says she’s too old to pick me up.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon. You should keep practicing while I’m away, so we can show your dad what he’s missing next time I come visit.”

The little girl had let out an incredibly powerful laugh and pressed a sloppy kiss to his cheek. “You’re the best uncle in the entire world.”

It’d felt great and he hadn’t given the whole thing much thought back then, but now, ten days later, it seems a moment good as another to retrieve the memories and compare to them the sense of proudness that’s currently spreading in his chest.

Lance knows he’s done the right thing, both by bringing her here and by letting her catch his heart.

They’re still adjusting, working around the edges, but they seem born to be a two-person team.

While they retrieve their backpacks, he gives her hip a soft pinch, and she turns around scowling.

She’s shaky and babbling more than usual, so busy being in pure wonder to notice the hand he offers.

“Behave,” she chides and Lance snickers under his breath, but he considers it a pity because he’d originally aimed for a kiss.

Here’s another thing he absolutely likes about Pidge.

She is not one of those clingy girlfriends who glue themselves to your side as soon as you reach a public place.

She’s passionate and incredibly sexy, but at the same time, she needs and protects her space with ease, almost jealously. Lance doesn’t mind, especially since it’s clear that, no matter how far and away from each other they get, their gravity pulls them back closer anyway.        

A tall woman with a gentle face and an impeccable uniform, introduces herself as Commander Svetlana Ryer and provides the entire group with welcome NASA hats that they wear immediately, and rocket-shaped cinnamon rolls.

Pidge nibbles hers down, visibly too excited to eat anything, and spends half of the morning at the visitor area asking every question she’s allowed to ask about the historic countdown clock, and the other half walking back and forth over the rose of PZ Experience ground panels they find at the entrance and on their way to the hall.

“This place is people-powered, Lance!”

“I know, Pidge. I was here when Ryner explained it two minutes ago.”

“How awesome is it?” she exclaims, impressively flaunting a few Charleston steps. “Imagine the things you could do with this kind of technology.”

Lance shakes his head and, grabbing her fingers, twirls her around herself a couple of times before pulling her onward.

At some point, they unintentionally befriend a girl that’s around their age and her family, so they all spend the rest of the tour making jokes and exchanging facts.

Lance looks around at the rocket parts in awe, Pidge elbows him in the ribs and reads the plates out loud.

In the meantime, they keep walking, side by side, claiming each other’s attention to see this and that and _can I have a kiss? For science, of course._

When the tour stops at the astronauts’ panels, they take turns taking pictures with life-size astronaut legends. Pidge grins at him while sending hers to her brother, and his chest goes all warm and fuzzy again.

They’re gushing about the Mercury Mission control center when someone from the group suggests they try astronaut meals. He and Pidge exchange a look and, after retrieving their rations, they sit on one of the ergonomic benches, shoulders pressed together.  

Lance cuts his finger while trying to open one of the hermetic packages.

She takes her hat off, rubs her temples and gives his hand a quick look when he whines loudly. “Don’t be a baby. It’s just a scratch.”

“It still hurts, though,” he teases, pocking at her lips with his knuckles. “Kiss it better?”

Pidge raises one of her eyebrows, slaps his hand away and pulls him in by the collar of his shirt for a kiss that shuts him up for a good ten seconds.

“There. Now stop being sappy and tell me what does this tastes like,” she says, putting her hat back on and shoving a suspicious-looking red cube in his mouth.

Lance munches on the mystery cube and lets its flavor run across his tongue. “Holy shit, is this chili?”

“Extra spicy,” she cheers, showing him the label on the package. “Dude, there’s chili in space. I don’t know about you, but I’m quite intrigued.”

“Oh, I’m so in. Let’s elope. I mean, enroll. Let’s enroll,” he replies as a drop of sweat runs down his temple.

She laughs, flicks his nose and stands up, leaving him there with his unfinished astronaut meal and an answer that technically wasn’t a no.

 

* * *

 

 

He totally forgot about the separate rooms, and only remembers about it after dinner, when the tour stops for the day and Lance reluctantly walks Pidge to her door.

She doesn’t question the choice nor suggest they share a bed, and he is a teeny tiny bit disappointed, because, as crass as it sounds, he’d hoped this would end up differently.

It’s not that their relationship lacks passion, they just haven’t found the right moment, yet.

Lance, being himself no less, knows how much that counts.

Even so, he won’t push, because he’s not that kind of guy and, if there are boundaries, he’s not going to be the one to take them down.

“I’m right next door if you need me,” he says, kissing her cheek and brushing back his hair with his fingers.

“Mmh-mm. Don’t stay up too late. We have to be out at six-thirty,” she rebuts, whipping her index finger around.

He says yes and of course and goodnight, but then midnight comes and he’s still tossing and turning in his bed, restless and incapable of sleeping.

Before he knows what he’s doing, he kicks the covers off his body, puts a shirt over his head and shoes with no socks on his feet.

He freezes at the door, heart stopping along, his nose a few inches away from Pidge’s.

“Hey, there,” she says, minty breath caressing his face, as she pushes her glasses up her nose with the back of her wrist.

“Oh, hi,” he says, blinking, and he still can’t speak properly.

There’s soda cans in both her hands. She waves one at him. “I brought the good stuff. Can I come in?”

“Of course,” he breathes, accepting the soda and looking around the desert corridors. “Where did you get these?”

“There’s a mini-fridge in my room,” she replies, giving his boxers a funny look. “Nice outfit. Where were you going?”

“To see you.”

Pidge smiles while opening her drink and makes herself comfortable on his unmade bed, legs crossed under her body.

She looks relaxed, contagiously giggly, and in between sips, they talk about the trip.

He crawls close to her, propping himself up on his elbow and hanging on her every word like she’s ten times more interesting and marvelous than all the rockets humans have ever built.

He has no idea how it happens, or who starts it, but soon enough both the talks and the drinks are long forgotten somewhere along with Pidge’s glasses, and her nails are scratching at the sides of his bare hips.

She’s pure fire as she traces his throat with wet kisses, unsurprisingly aware of his every weak spot.

Lance? He’s already had three heart attacks and another one is on its way, but he’s definitely having the time of his life, thanks for asking

He moans against her collarbone as she abandons her head back in pure ecstasy, and grips tighter at her knee, feeling it jerk under his palm.

He's never felt like this before -so greedy and blinded by lust he can barely remember his name- and they really should stop before he loses control, but when he tries to move away the first time, she bites his lip and pulls him closer to her chest.

With a groan that costs him half of his masculinity, he tears his hands away, reaching the switch in the darkness and turning the light on.

Pidge blinks confused, when he sits up. “You okay?”

“Not really,” he swallows, feeling his cheeks heat with blood. “Things were getting pretty intense.”

She rolls her eyes and the mattress shifts under her weight. “Yeah, that was the intent.”

“Are you trying to seduce me?” he asks, the hint of hope in his voice giving away his preference.

She sits up against the headboard, planting her toes in his lap. Her hair goes in all directions and it takes all his willpower not to stare at her breast. Unfortunately for both of them, his willpower is as well behaved as he is, and he ends up staring anyway.

She nods. “And I’m failing at it, apparently, since you’re questioning it.”

He didn’t realize how much he likes the feeling of how familiar her skin feels under his palms until he feels it lacking.

He clenches and unclenches his fingers, snorting. He didn’t realize he was cockblocking himself, either.

Lance scoots forward, heart galloping in tune with his breath. “You’re amazing.”

 “Then what is it? Don’t you want to…?”

“Of course,” he says, confident, because he probably wanted to sleep with her since the very first time he’s seen her even if he’s too much of an old-fashioned romantic to admit it. “It’s just that, well…it’d be our first time. I want it to be special for you.”

Honestly? He feels dumb just for saying it out loud, and when Pidge shakes her head and reaches out to press a kiss to his neck, he feels even dumber.

“You’re being sappy again and I usually find it cute but, right now, it’s ruining the mood. Stop thinking,” she murmurs, whipping his brain up into a frenzy. “I don’t care about special. I just want it to be real.”

Her voice, the desire in it and in the way her fingertips surprise him by grazing through the hair on his chest, snap him out of his little pity party.

Real.

It suggests the possibility of unexperienced hands and uneven breaths, like a never-ending treasure hunt, and Lance wants every second of it. 

She searches for his face and her expression tells him everything he needs to know.

Lance lets the realization sink in deep within his bones, baths in it from where he stands, here at her complete mercy.

The logic side of his brain decides to show to the revelry. “There’s just a little problem,” he huffs, squeezing his eyes. “I, um, didn’t bring any…protection.”

“I did,” she replies immediately, as if she’s had the answer loaded all that time. “Just promise me you won’t write a song about it.”

His stomach floods with warmth. “Not even a mention?”

Pidge scrunches up her nose and leans forward. “Maybe just a verse or two. No names, though.”

 “Deal,” Lance chuckles, kissing her once, lips indulging just enough to catch a breath. “God, I want you so much. I hope these walls are thick enough.”

“We’ll find out,” she says, smugly, and when she takes off her shirt, he can’t breathe anymore but he’s not worried.

At least, he tells himself, all the perfect, warm skin of her belly that’s got him mouthwatering would be a nice place to die on.

He stops fighting it and start living it.

Pidge exhales, gorgeous in her little pink bra, and when she goes for the switch he keeps her still before she can reach it.

“No,” he says voice and head shaking. “Leave the light on.”

She looks at him questionably, but then her gaze follows his hands as they travel down her stomach and hook at the loose elastic of her pajama pants. “Not that I’m complaining, but what are you plotting?”

 “You want real?” Lance asks, grips tighter at the fabric and the ripping sound is the fuel and the fire that ignite his spark.

"Yes. Please."

“Then I’ll give you real."

(And that’s exactly what she gets.)

 

* * *

 

 

Weirdly enough, he’s the first to wake up.

The digital clock on the wall, synchronized to the one they’ve seen the very previous morning, lets him know it’s a little after five.

The room is a mess of wrinkled sheets and one of Pidge’s socks is inexplicably hanging from the bathroom door handle.

She is plastered against the right side of his body, her nose buried in the crook of her elbow. The heat that radiates from her body is so soothing he’s almost tempted to close his eyes and keep sleeping, or wake Pidge up for another round of sheet-crumbling since they still have time before they have to leave.

Lance breathes deeply, blissful, and squirms a little in the dim light that filters through the half-closed sunblind, drunk on the beautiful sight before his eyes and with a menacing tightness between his thighs.

As silently as he can, he kisses the top of her shoulder, crawls out of bed and, tripping on his own feet, puts his boxers on.

He’s still rinsing his face when Pidge, all scuffled and warm, joins him in the bathroom wearing his shirt inside-out and with a frizzy mane of hair that circles her pretty face.

“’Morning, sunshine. Slept well?”

 “I actually think I’m still sleeping. I hope you don’t mind but I stole your shirt. I have no idea where mine went,” she says, accidentally –or maybe not- bumping against him on her way to the sink.

“Looks better on you, anyway,” he replies with a wink that makes her giggle.

"Yeah, I thought the same." She yawns loudly then picks up the white toothbrush provided by the hotel, after giving her face a good scrub.

Pidge brushes her teeth in silence, moving around him in the tight space, so comfortably slow that it makes the whole situation look even more domestic than it is already.

When she bends over the sink, her shirt rides up her waist just enough to send his blood pressure to the roof.

Does she even know what she’s doing to him?

Something in the back of her big eyes and thick lashes tells him she does, and Lance is possibly even more smitten than he was a second ago.

When she’s done, she turns to look at him as she puts the towel back from where she took it. "Are you checking me out?" she asks, grimacing.

Lance shrugs. "A little."

She puckers her lips and does the same, although definitely way more openly than he did. 

There's a bite mark on his left pec and Pidge blushes at the sight of it.

Lance finds it cute, considering she's the one who left it there.

“So," she says, averting her glance back to his face. "That happened. Let’s not make it awkward.”

Lance snorts, brushing toothpaste away from the corner of her mouth then licking his thumb unceremoniously. “I was going to make it anything but awkward. I think you'd know about it, by now.”

She smacks her face with her palm, shaking her head in disbelief. “Man, you’re so cheeky!”

“Says the one who showed up at my door at midnight with drinks and condoms!”

Pidge unleashes a laugh that sounds a bit like a hic and he’s reminded with a similar but different kind of sound he got off of her last night, and that he wouldn’t mind hearing again.

Possibly in the near future.

She goes back into the room and he looks at her back in the mirror and through the door. Even from here he can see the freckles on her arms.

Lance closes his eyes just a second, reviving the memory of how he's licked every inch of her pale thighs until she's screamed his name into the pillow.

When she turns her head around to see if he’s following, his brain freezes.

“You coming back to bed or do I have to go and fetch you another Pepsi?”

“Can I have a Sprite this time?”

“Oh, that depends on you.”

Lance feels his lips automatically stretch into a wide grin.

They’re _so_ going to miss the bus.

 

* * *

 

 

By some sort of cosmic joke, they don’t miss the bus.

The joke part being Commander Ryner walking in on them making out in the corridor behind the front desk.  

Pidge plops on her seat, giggling into the collar of his hoodie, and the bus moves.

Lance takes her hand between his and plants a kiss on her knuckles because his greediest side craves the contact, even if he’s just spent ten minutes pinning her to a wall and with her legs wrapped around his hips.

In his defense, Pidge is not doing any better, since she keeps making the eyes at him as she thumbs away with her phone.

It’s marvelous how, sometimes, intimacy changes things for the best.

They reach the field at seven am sharp.

The mother from the family they’ve met yesterday offers them a spare blanket and Lance promptly accepts it, thanking the woman and sprawling it on the ground right beside where Pidge is struggling with her camera’s tripod.

She zips up her jacket and sits down beside him, arms stretched behind her back, the cold tips of her fingertips touching his.

“You’re far enough, here, so you’ll be completely safe, but remember to cover your ears when the side boosters come back to the ground, if you’re particularly affected by really loud noises,” Ryner explains, mimicking the act of  shutting her ears off with her cupped hands, and shots he and Pidge a curious look when she departs the group.

The camp goes silent when, not even ten minutes later, someone from the staff announces that it’s almost time.

Pidge jumps on her feet and hurries Lance up too, producing hunting binoculars from her backpack.

“Do I even want to know why you own that thing?” he jokes, striding right behind her as she picks her favorite spot.

“Probably not,” she replies, chuckling, and passes the binoculars to him. “Look!”

He looks and it’s a real view, but the actual spectacle is counting out loud, right beside him.

The countdown reaches its end and the rocket, surrounded with water vapor caused by propulsion, leaves the Earth.         

His heart jumps in his throat and he feels like the kid who pretend-played of piloting alien spaceships in the basement of his grandmother’s house.

Forever in wonder and brave enough to do anything.

Pidge laughs at his gaping mouth and Lance swears there are tears in her eyes.

When the side boosters get discarded and come into view, she reaches out and grabs his hand so tight he can barely feel his fingers.

The boom explodes out of nowhere, echoing in the valley and under his skin.

It scares him a little, but it also makes him feel pretty alive.

Lance thinks it’s the same thing that he feels when Pidge is aroundand he’s so excited by the poetic realization that he almost tells her.

Pidge winces, and turns around, squealing and applauding like everybody else.

He joins the applause only to find himself with a hugful of Pidge just a second later.

“Holy. Shit,” she exclaims wrapping her arms around his neck. “That was terrific.”

Lance pulls her closer, mind completely blown. “Yeah, it was.”

“Thank you again for bringing me here.”

“Pleasure was mine. In the very sense of the word.”

“Jerk,” she whispers, against his cheek and when she breaks the sound barrier, his stomach drops with a gut-twitching twist. “I really like you, you know.”

It’s a burst of feelings that catches him totally unprepared, but really, he should have seen it coming.

She’s his personal sonic boom, after all.

“I really like you, too.”

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, on their plane home, Pidge passes out almost immediately and keeps sleeping through the entire flight.

Lance is grateful because it gives him the chance to take a couple pictures of her cute sleeping face, and to gush about the trip _and the rest_ , without her finding it too cheesy.

An hour later, when not even the pilot announcement manages to wake her up, Lance removes her headphones and nuzzles at the side of her cheek.

“Wakey wakey, beautiful. We’re home.”

She huffs in his face, sleep-grumpy. “Five more minutes.”

“We’re landing. You need to fasten your seatbelt.”

Pidge reluctantly gives up and smiles slyly at him while stretching her limbs.

When they leave the gate and retrieve their luggage, she catches his hand and entwines her fingers with his.

Three days ago, she wouldn’t have done something so thoughtless, in such a crowded place, and even if Lance knows he should point it out, he can’t bring himself to move away.

It’s mostly some sort of male pride thing.

He’s aware that it’s reckless, but how can you be someone like him and love someone like Pidge without wanting to show the world?

She stops walking, and blows a raspberry while scratching her calf with her foot. “Crap, I forgot my phone’s out of battery. Can you text Matt to check if he’s already here?”

“Sure,” Lance nods, but when he fishes his phone out and looks up, he spots a familiar face in the crowd. “Wait, I think I see him.”

“Matt!” Pidge starts calling and over twenty people turn around. She calls him once again, eager, because as much as Pidge doesn’t like to brag about it, he knows she’s missed him.

“Pidge!” a voice calls back and Lance watches Matt tumble over some old woman’s trolley bag before launching himself in his sister’s arms.

Lance thinks it’s a very deep hug until he hears Matt hiss in Pidge’s ear something that sounds like _I’m sorry_ and _I couldn’t refuse_ and the whole thing smells incredibly fishy.

“What…are you talking about?” she asks, making a face, and then her eyes widen over his shoulder. “Mom and Dad?! You brought Mom and Dad here?!”

Lance panics for a second as he follows her eyes and Mr and Mrs Holt find their way to their little welcome home party.

Pidge and her parents share a couple kisses on the cheek and then Mr Holt turns his head to him. “Lance, right?” his voice is polite but when he shakes his hand, his grip is firm and tight. “I hope you’ll join us for dinner.”

Lance sucks in a deep breath because even if he’s already on first name basis with Pidge’s mother, he’s never seen Doctor Holt outside his clinic before and he’s a little terrified.

“Sure,” he replies, collecting back his hand.

During the car trip, Pidge fills her family in with every possible and PG detail about their time in KSC and only stops talking when they reach _Sal’s_.

They’re assigned a table and Lance starts getting nervous.

He usually doesn’t have problems with parents, but Sam Holt is the kind of man who pulls out the chair for his wife, drinks sparkly water at the dinner table and saves lives on a daily basis, so he’s got every right to be intimidated.

Pidge sits next to him and when his knee starts jerking up and down, she makes it stop by placing her hand on top of it.

The third degree begins right after they receive their drinks, which is way too soon in his opinion.

Lance endures and sometimes Pidge’s grip on his thigh goes tighter.

It’s clear that she admires her father and she cares about his opinion, and now he wants to impress them both.

“Katie told me you went to Garrison College, too,” Doctor Holt says, sipping at his water. “Which major did you take?”

“Engineering, sir. But I never graduated, so it doesn’t count.”

“You didn’t graduate?”

Lance shakes his head. “Nope. We signed our first contract when I was three exams away from passing the third year top of my class.”

“That’s a pity. And I’m sure you’ll regret it, one day.”

“Dad!” Pidge squeaks, horrified, and at the same time, Mrs Holt shots an admonishing look at her husband. “Sam!”

“What? I’m just stating a fact. I mean, you’re a smart guy and clearly have great potential. Also, our Katie deserves only the best.”

“Dad, please. Leave him alone,” Pidge whines, blushing deeply.

Matt pretends he’s looking at his phone but he’s totally hiding a grin.

“It’s fine, I don’t mind talking about it,” Lance shrugs and holds Pidge’s hand under the table. “Sometimes I do think bailing out was a stupid idea, but I like what I do just enough for now.”

“And don’t you have any plans for your future?” Mrs Holt chimes in, placing a napkin on her lap.

“Many.” _And most of them involve me sticking around your daughter for a very long time_ , he adds, in the back of his mind. “But I don’t need a piece of paper to go where I want to go.”

 “Well said,” Doctor Holt agrees, taking another sip from his glass. “Just let me know if you decide to go back to college and need a reference letter. I have friends in various departments at the Garrison.”

Mrs Holt smiles pleased.

“Will do, sir,” Lance says and feels Pidge exhale deeply at his side.

The food arrives and the tension finally breaks.

They’re eating in silence, when Matt plants his palms on the tablecloth and goes a thousand shades of red in front of their faces.

“I’m seeing someone, too,” he blurts out and Pidge almost chokes on her water.

Mrs Holt immediately grips Matt’s elbow. “Aw, honey, that’s awesome news. What’s her name?”

“Keith.”

Doctor Holt stops munching on his brisket and his glasses run down his nose. “That’s a weird name for a girl.”

Lance laughs a little under his breath even if he does his best to contain it.

“Stop making it weird, you two.” Mrs Holt flaps her hands around, forcing Matt to wobble along with her movements. She turns to her son and gives him a smile Lance sees all the time on his mama’s face. “So, tell me. Where did you and Keith meet?”

Matt pours himself some wine and looks at his sister for support. “He was a patient.”

Pidge nods, poking at her spaghetti with her fork. “And the drummer in Lance’s band.”

“We went to the same college, too,” Lance interjects. “He even dropped out a month before I did.”

This time both Pidge and her mother snickers with him.

Doctor Holt puts his napkin down, takes his glasses off and turns to Matt with the face of someone who's in serious need of a hug. 

“Maybe you should pass me that wine, son,” the older man says, and dinner is a success. 

 

* * *

 

 

In theory, they’ve done everything perfectly.

In practice they’ve made a mistake.

They’ve underrated the fans.

It starts like this:

On Monday, Lance has a conference call with a journalist from an emerging music blog that completely ignores his attempts at talking about the band and asks him a suspiciously huge amount of personal questions that he tries to dodge every chance he can.

Later, he replays the whole interview in his mind and cringes at the memory of how many times he’s stuttered at the mention of _Elevator Katie_ ’s origin story. He couldn’t have fooled anyone when at the question “Is it someone you’re dating?”, he’d replied with a dragged _nooooooooooope_. He curses so loud Keith bangs his fist against the wall from his room to tell him to shut the hell up.

On Tuesday, he and Hunk are working on a few challenging chords when Pidge sends him 13 screenshots of an incredibly detailed Tumblr theory post about his dating history, that ends on a rather accurate assumption.

Lance reads it a couple of times because it’s impressively well-done and the only thing that lacks is the validation. If he wasn’t entirely creeped out by the entire situation, he’d totally be praising at the investigating skills of certain dedicated people.

The post gets more views than he’s expected and, somehow, he and Pidge end up having their first fight. It’s barely nothing and they’re laughing again in more than an hour, but it stings just the same.

On Wednesday, there are pictures. Tons of pictures.

While he’s busy taking a bubble bath with his picture buddy, the hashtag #lancesgirlfriend starts trending in three countries.

Twitter is on fire, pictures get analyzed and dissected from every angle. 

In one of them, Lance’s hand is spread possessively over Pidge’s buttcheek as they wait in line outside one of the crappiest cinemas he’s ever been to.

Objectively speaking, they look beautiful together. Only a blind or an unreasonably jealous fan wouldn’t see that they’re insanely in love and happy as kids.

Another fight later, Pidge grabs her shoulder bag and leaves his room without kissing him goodbye.

On Friday, they have names and another article that makes the internet blow up. An anonymous but reliable source gifts the world with a 3k-word piece about their incredibly loud Floridian vacation. Stupid walls. They weren’t that thick, after all.

Reading it, he wondered if Pidge had already seen it or if he still had a couple of hours of her night shift before she could scold his ass from here to Mars and back.

Yes, Pidge read it. Yes, she definitely did not like an article called _The Tailor Ties The Knot_?

On Saturday, she calls him furious when both fans and journalist magically find her personal social media accounts and start harassing the living life out of her.

“There’s ten idiots with their phone and cameras outside the clinic. One of them was waiting for me in the parking lot and scratched Green when he climbed out of his stupid Range Rover,” she barks from the other side of the phone, and then stops talking to him.

That night, he puts on his NASA hat and runs the four miles that separate his place from Pidge’s only to find the rails shut and Pidge’s car gone from its usual spot.

And this is it.

A new week begins and Lance is on the edge of a breakdown.

Pidge’s turned all her social profiles to private and is still not returning his calls.

It’s one of those days, only the absence of Pidge makes it feel ten times heavier.

He doesn’t even care if she’s mad at him or if she doesn’t want to see him anymore, he just needs to talk to her and know that she’s okay and safe. And yeah, preferably not mad at him either. 

It sucks. 

However, he refuses to think in terms of loss.

They’re not done, yet.

He tries Matt, but even he has very little to say and only replies with monosyllabic and impersonal answers.

Lance weeps over his phone, punches a hole in the kitchen door and gets forbidden by Shiro to show up at the clinic in case it makes things worse than they already are.

While he’s busy picking up shreds of wood, Hunk comes by with a casserole filled with his favorite food that he can’t even enjoy.

If she was here, right now, he'd tell her he has no idea what's the future holding out for them, but he's pretty sure she's his destiny, and we all know what that means. 

You can't escape fate. 

“It’s gonna be okay, man,” Hunk says, gently, looking at his untouched ranch chicken. “Give her time.”

Allura agrees with their friend and then pats him on the back when Lance sighs and bangs his forehead against the table.

At the recording studio, it doesn’t go better.

He keeps thinking about Pidge, about her being anywhere but by his side, and he flunks note after note, because even his throat is too exhausted to collaborate.

Keith drags his ass a couple of times and then literally grabs him by the neck of his sweater, making him clash his teeth against the condenser, when he forgets the lyrics in the middle of recording the side melodies.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Lance whips his hood back and almost strangles him with his headphones.

“What the hell is wrong with _me_? You’re being a nuisance and wasting time on purpose.”

“You think I like feeling like this?”

“Guys,” Shiro intervenes, placing himself between them. “That’s enough.”

Hunk clicks his tongue. “Yeah, buddy, cut him some slack. He’s having a tough day,” Hunk says,

Keith points a finger in Lance’s chest, eyes narrowed and pupils dilated.

“You’re not the only one who’s got someone to be worried about,” he snarls, and Lance feels even worse now, because apparently he’s not just a bad boyfriend, but a crappy friend, as well.

His anger fades instantly.

“Sorry about that,” he says, inhaling deeply and offering Keith his fist to bump. “I keep forgetting we’re basically family, now.”

Keith snorts and ignores his fist, but when they go back to work, he’s not sulking like he usually does and Lance remembers all the words.

They’re working on the last arrangements when Coran knocks on the glass that isolates the soundproof room and calls him outside.

“Katie’s here. I let her in, she’s waiting in the lounge,” the man instructs him, nodding almost fatherly.

“Thanks, Coran,” Lance says and his voice is as unsteady as his breath. “Tell the guys I’ll be right back.”

He tumbles into the relax area and Pidge is standing there, in the middle of the room, observing her surroundings and looking exactly like he feels: miserable and love-deprived.

She doesn’t give him the time to process the fact that they’re interacting after almost three days of radio silence on her part, and launches herself in his arms.

Lance buries his nose in her hair, inhaling in the scent of her shampoo mixed with a faint hint of disinfectant. He loves her so much he can't even quantify it.

“I missed you so much. So freaking much."

Relief washes through him at the sound of her heartbeat. 

“I missed you too. Sorry it took me so long,” she says, and her voice cracks a little while vibrating through his ribcage. “I thought you’d be mad.”

He moves back just enough to look at her in the eyes. “For what?”

“For ignoring you,” she admits, biting her lip. “It’s just that…things got a bit overwhelming. I needed time to figure out what to do.”

"It's okay. You're here, now. And we're gonna be fine. Right?"

"More than fine. I told you, I had time to think."

“And…?”

“And I ran here as soon as I realized that I’d miss your stupid face too much to give up on us for something as marginal as online death threats and privacy invasion,” she chuckles, wiping hair away from his forehead, and finally pressing a kiss to his mouth. "You're worth it."

Lance melts against her lips and into the familiar taste of her chapstick.

"And to think you didn't even want to talk to me when we got stuck together in that elevator!"

"I still haven't forgiven you for your bad attempt at giving me CPR with your tongue."

He chuckles. "There's a reason if they call me The Tailor and not The Doctor."

“If my dad finds out about your stupid nickname he's gonna want to have another talk with you. Speaking of which...there's papz at the clinic. Again. Dad gave me a night off. Can I crash at your place, tonight?"

"Tonight, everyday, s'fine by me."

Pidge hugs him closer. "Thanks, you're the best. Seriously, though, this is pure madness, ” she murmurs, in between kisses. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“You get used to it, after a while. Don’t worry, babe, I’ll help you out with that. We've got time," he exclaims, proud of the future perspectives he sees unrolling in front of them. "It’s you and me against the world.”

“I love how that sounds. You and me.”

Lance nods. “Way better than McHolt.”

“We’re not using that,” Pidge deadpans, but her eyes are laughing as she tries to steal another kiss. 

“Save the complaints for the internet, bae. Come, ” he interrupts, grabbing her wrist with one hand and shutting her mouth with the other. “Let’s go say goodbye to the others.”

“Where are we going?”

“I haven’t seen you in two days. What do you think?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows. “I want to be alone with you. My place or your place?”

Pidge ponders his question, sucks on her cheeks, barely containing a grin, and Lance thinks he's never loved anyone the way he loves her.

“Who said we need to go anywhere?”

Man, she's going to ruin him.

 

* * *

 

Man, he's going to ruin her. 

His long fingers find their way under her shirt and over her breast. Pidge's heart is _this_ close to exploding. 

Excitement twists her gut and gives her brains vertigo high. 

Not that she's a PDA fanatic or anything, but this is getting out of hand, and Pidge won't stop it, can't stop it. "Are we going to get in trouble?"

"Nah, nobody ever comes here. Take this off?" he begs, nipping on her bottom lip and tugging at the hem of her sweater. 

She pants in his mouth, throwing the sweater on the ground. 

"Not gonna lie, this is a major turn on," he grimaces, sliding a thumb over the tattoo on her arm. "You should get another one."

"What should it be?" 

"My name? No, my face!" 

"You're impossible."

"But you love me, right?" he asks, innocently, while at the same time, his hand crawls its way inside her pants. 

What a giant dork. 

Pidge has never loved anyone the way she loves Lance. 

But thankfully for her -and unfortunately for him-, she's loving the game, and his smug ass self should learn to earn the truth, before receiving it first. 

She presses an open palm against his heart, feeling it run in tandem with her own. 

Maybe this goofball of a boyfriend she's found herself's on the right path, after all. 

"We'll see," it's all she replies, shutting him up with a kiss. 

 

* * *

 

 

Shiro loves love.

Lance is like a younger brother to him, and he’s starting to get fond of Pidge, too, so when he learns that everything’s back to normal between them, he couldn’t be cheerier even if he tried.

Really, he wishes them both all the happiness they deserve.

And if, by any chance, they’d remember to close the goddarn door next time they decide to fool around outside the intimacy of their bedroom, he’d consider himself happy too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, covering shiro's eyes: shh it's okay, that was just a nightmare.  
> ___
> 
> I assume you're all here for the science (cue: sarcasm), so I think it's only fair to inform you all that I've never been to Florida nor to KSC, so everything I've written about here comes from a two-week long Google research and a bit of immagination.  
> I'm sorry in advance if this sucks, and please, let me know if there are any inaccuracies I need to correct.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: the song Elevator Katie actually exists. In my mind. It's a terrible place to be, so I suggest you to stay out of it.  
> In case you feel brave and decide you haven't had enough, hit me up on Tumblr @ lancemccutie.  
> I promise I won't drag you down the shipping hole with me, if you behave.


End file.
